


Sweeter Than Chocolate

by ghostofgatsby



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Chocolate, Crushes, Flirting, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Romance, So Much Fluff It’s Sickening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:19:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6021880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hello! How can I help you?” The bakery worker greets, wiping his hands on his apron and stepping up to the counter. He has eyes like melted chocolate, or a mocha latte, and his smile is warm and friendly.<br/>“Um...” Smith stares down at the display case again, feeling ashamed to admit he hadn't been thinking about the chocolates at all, but about the cute brunette instead. “I really don't know what I want, to be honest.”<br/>The other man laughs and gestures to the cafe behind them. "Luckily for you, there's no one else around." He smiles wryly. "What kind of chocolate would you like?"<br/><em>Whatever kind your smile is made of, please.</em> Smith thinks.</p><p>Trott is a baker/chocolatier. Smith is smitten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweeter Than Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> when I have a million things to do, my brain gives me writing ideas. this one’s been floating around in my Google docs since mid November, and I decided to save it for Valentine’s Day because it seemed appropriate. It also happens to be International Fanworks Day today.  
> I always think the word "Troffy" sounds like "toffee" which makes me think of caramel or Heath bars. And I wanted something sweet, so a bakery/chocolatier/cafe Troffy AU happened. It started with chocolatier, and then the bakery part got added, and, well...*shrug*. I imagine it’s a cross between a chocolate shop, the bakery part of Panera, and a small Starbucks-like cafe.
> 
> cw: so much fluff it's sickening. implied sex  
> If I need to tag anything else, let me know.
> 
> reblog?: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/02/15/sweeter-than-chocolate-ghostofgatsby/
> 
> if anyone wants a beta, I'd be interested in helping out. shoot me an email @gmail.com

The bell over the door chimes cheerfully as Smith walks into the bakery. Normally he’d pass right by the store on his way to work, but since his bike had gotten stolen he’d been forced to walk everywhere. With the work week done, he took a more leisurely stroll back home, and the bright yellow-striped storefront looked inviting.

There had been no sign of the word “gourmet” anywhere in the title, not that Smith could tell, so the place probably wasn’t prissy and overpriced. In fact, the place is completely empty. There isn’t anyone in sight among the few tables and chairs, or behind the counter. But then again, it’s just past dinner hours.

Smith looks back at the sign in the door to double check the shop is open. It’s an hour before closing, actually, so it’s probably rare for the bakery to get many customers at this time of day. He turns back again and walks up to the counter, inhaling the sweet smell of baked goods and chocolate.

The back wall behind the counter has several menu boards and racks where fresh-baked bread is kept. The display case under the counter holds all sorts of desserts and hand-dipped chocolates, sprinkled with candies and chopped nuts. Smith looks up from the display case as a brunette in a yellow apron walks in from the back room.

“Hello! How can I help you?” The bakery worker greets, wiping his hands on his apron and stepping up to the counter. He has eyes like melted chocolate, or a mocha latte, and his smile is warm and friendly.

“Um...” Smith stares down at the display case again, feeling ashamed to admit he hadn't been thinking about the chocolates at all, but about the cute brunette instead. “I really don't know what I want, to be honest.”

The other man laughs and gestures to the cafe behind them. "Luckily for you, there's no one else around." He smiles wryly. "What kind of chocolate would you like?"

 _Whatever kind your smile is made of, please._ Smith thinks.

He chuckles bashfully and rubs the back of his neck. "Anything without nuts, coconut, or cherries."

"Allergic?"

"No, just not a fan."

“Well, we've got your basic chocolate truffles here, in milk, white, semi-sweet, and dark chocolate coatings and fillings.” The baker starts, tapping the left side of the case. "Following down the line, we have other types of flavorings- mint, peanut butter, nougats, fruit flavors, and the like. Then your caramels and more decadent desserts and pastries are at the far end." He points to the section of displays closer to the door, and then makes a sweeping gesture over his shoulder. “There are other baked goods along the back wall, and of course the menu board of what we’re serving for today.”

Smith looks from the baker to the menu board and back again. "Okay...uh, how much for a small box?”

The man rattles off the information with a smile. "Individually the truffles are fifty-five cents, and the caramels and filled chocolates are sixty-five. The fudge and other desserts are priced individually. A small box fits a dozen bonbons for six ninety nine."

Smith decides to get a box, though it’s more the brunette that convinces him to, rather than the chocolate. They both move along the display case, mirroring each other as Smith selects chocolates, and the baker adds them to a box for him.

Dark chocolate with marshmallow cream, salted caramels, orange cream filled, vanilla nougat, toffee crunch, and milk chocolate truffles.

When the box is full, the baker rings up his order at one of the three cashier stations toward the back of the room.

“There you are, a dozen chocolates.” The baker says with a smile.

"Thanks...uh..." Smith trails off, noticing the lack of a name tag on the man’s apron.

"Chris Trott, or just ‘Trott’ to most people." He offers his hand across the counter. “I’m the owner and founder of Doux Que Soleil Patisserie.”

The French flies over Smith’s head, but he shyly shakes Trott’s hand. "Smith. Er, Alex Smith, but. I just go by Smith. Do you make all these yourself?”

“More or less.” Trott shrugs. “I have some help come in during the mornings and weekends, but the place is my own.”

“Wow. Well, uh, thanks.” Smith chuckles shyly. “I should probably get out of your hair, so you can lock up. I don’t mean to keep you past closing.”

“That’s alright. Feel free to stop in another time.” Trott smiles.

“Okay. Great.” He steps back from the counter, box of chocolates in hand.

Trott gives him a wave. “Have a nice night.”

Smith smiles back. “You too.”

 

* * *

 

Smith passes by the bakery on his way to work Monday morning, only-half intentionally. There’s a second window looking into the shop, in the room behind the counter where the ovens are. When he stops by, he sees Trott putting trays of pastries in the oven. The baker punches in a timer and turns back to his worktable. He starts kneading flour into the dough before him.

Smith can’t help but watch Trott’s arms as he works. The muscles in his forearms tense and relax as he folds and rolls the dough across the counter. He’s absolutely _covered_ in flour, the front of his yellow apron smeared with white, and he’s smiling absent-mindedly to himself.

Smith smiles. He’s crushing hard. He can’t help how cute he finds the other man, how he adores his warm and kind personality. Sure, he doesn’t know anything except his name, and he’s only met him once, but it doesn’t matter. He’s rather fond of him already.

And the chocolates were really good, too.

Smith doesn't let himself linger too long- he doesn't want to be caught staring by the brunette. He turns away from the window and continues on his way to work.

 

* * *

 

He can't keep himself away when it comes to lunch break, though. His mouth is watering as he waits in the long lunch-lines. He didn't realize how hungry he was, and he knows he has to get whatever he orders to go, but Trott's beaming smile when he sees him brings a grin to Smith's face.

“Hey, Trott.” Smith greets.

"Hey. Fancy seeing you here again."

Smith shrugs as if it's not a big deal. "Lunch break."

"What can I get you?" Trott asks.

"Oh, right! Uh..." Smith pieces together his order in his head, frantically aware of the long line of customers behind him. "I'll have, um, one of those ham and swiss croissants."

Trott smiles in amusement. "Coming right up."

Smith watches him work with a wistful smile. Trott moves along the back counter, to a mini fridge stocked with lunchmeat and cheeses, and across the rows of shelves with fresh-baked bread. He takes a bread knife and cuts a croissant in half, stuffing it with ham and cheese, and chucking it in the toaster oven.

Seconds later, he wraps it in foil and hands it to Smith across the counter.

Smith smiles sheepishly, paying by cash instead of credit card, and feeling the annoyance of the customers behind him. Trott quickly dispenses his change.

"Have a great day." Trott says with a smile.

Smith grins. "You too."

He ducks quickly out of the shop and speed-walks back to work. The sandwich in his hands is so warm it’s almost scalding, but it keeps the chill from his gloveless fingertips. He peels back the foil and moans appreciatively as he takes a bite.

Melted swiss over smoked ham, inside a buttery, fluffy, fresh-baked croissant. Fuck, the man knows how to bake. Smith wonders if he's as good a cook as a baker. The two aren't necessarily synonymous, but...he honestly wouldn't give a crap. Trott’s skills as a baker and chocolatier make up for it by far.

  

Smith passes by the bakery every day that week, always catching a glimpse of Trott working. He tries to avoid the lunch rush, but some days he can't stand it and goes anyway, knowing he'll have to sprint back to work to make it on time.

Smith realizes he's a little love-struck, but he hasn't felt this way in a while. It's worth it. He's going to let himself fall, because regardless, the pastries are delicious.

 

* * *

 

The February wind cuts right through Smith as he walks back from work. He pulls the lapels of his coat tighter in a futile attempt to keep the chill out.

It was later than usual. Half past eight, and dark outside.

Much to his surprise, there’s a light on at the bakery, and Smith can’t help but stop by the window to peek inside.

Trott’s frosting cupcakes. Piping bag full of pink frosting in one hand, yellow cupcake in the other, and brow furrowed in concentration.

Smith smiles softly. There’s a platterful of cupcakes, all perfectly frosted, and he has to wonder how Trott does it. It looks easy, but Smith knows if he tried it, the cupcakes wouldn’t look nearly as good. Rather the opposite.

It takes Smith a few seconds to realize he’s been staring off into space, and when he looks back up at Trott, the other man is looking back at him.

Whoops. He’s been found out.

Trott grins.

Smith waves sheepishly. _Totally haven’t been here for five minutes, watching you frost cupcakes. Nope. That would be creepy of me._

Trott wipes off his hands and gestures for him to come around so he can let him in. He looks amused more than anything, and Smith can’t resist the opportunity, so he leaves the window and goes inside.

"Hey, Smith. Been awhile since I've seen you around." Trott greets him. It's like they're old friends.

Smith tugs his beanie off his head, cheeks flushed not only because of the heat of the bakery and the chill of the outside. "Work's been hectic..." He sighs. It’s the truth- he’d be here more often if he could.

“That’s a shame.” Trott sympathizes, leading Smith through to the back room. In this light, Trott's skin glows, and his eyes shine.

"What are you baking?" Smith asks. He tries not to add 'this time' to give away the fact that it isn't the first time he's stopped by on his route home.

"Cupcakes with raspberry frosting." Trott rounds his worktable again, and offers him a cupcake topped with a single raspberry. "Try one."

"You sure?" Smith grins slowly. "How much is it going to cost me?"

"I'll put it on your tab." Trott grins back. "Go ahead, try it."

Smith leans up against the end of the counter and takes the proffered cupcake. Trott goes back to frosting concentric swirls of pink around the tops of the cupcakes, and lining them up on silver platters.

Smith pops the raspberry in his mouth, chewing the tart fruit as he peels the cupcake from its paper lining. He holds one hand under the cupcake so he doesn't drop crumbs everywhere, and takes a bite.

Sweet, if slightly sharp taste of the raspberry frosting. The moist vanilla cake complements it perfectly.

"Wow, that's really good." Smith says, licking his lips. "I'm not usually a cupcake person, but...I like the frosting."

"Not a cupcake person?" Trott asks incredulously. "How can you not like cupcakes?"

Smith laughs. "I don't know, I just preferred cookies and brownies as a kid."

Trott sighs. "Well, at least I swayed your vote with this one, right?"

"Yeah, you did." Smith smirks and Trott's eyes catch his with a wry grin.

Trott continues frosting while Smith finishes his cupcake.

 

* * *

 

"Morning, sunshine! You look like you had a hell of a night."

Trott’s cheerful disposition brings a lazy smile to Smith face. He hopes the chill explains away his blush at the term of endearment.

“Yeah, I went out drinking with some friends in town last night.” Smith clarifies, leaning up against the order counter feeling terribly hungover. Trott’s bakery is mostly empty, save for a few patrons bustling around getting coffee. “I’m extremely late for work, so I figured I might as well get something to eat.”

“I’d recommend the cinnamon rolls. Just took another batch out the oven.”

“That’d be great, thank you.” Smith says reverently. He scrubs his eyes of his tiredness while Trott gets his order ready. The baker slides an espresso to him before he pays.

“Coffee’s on me.” Trott says with a smile.

Smith smiles back.

The man’s too sweet.

 

* * *

 

After another late night at work, Smith visits Trott at the bakery again.

“I hate my job...” Smith groans, leaning his chin on his hand. He’s sitting at the counter in the back room and watching Trott work. “I’m always fucking working nowadays.”

“Try being a baker. Long hours are required.” Trott chuckles.

“That’s different, though.”

“Is it?”

Smith gestures lazily to the danishes cooling nearby. “You get all these pastries, mate.”

“I don’t eat all of them, I sell them.” Trott snorts.

Smith huffs. “I’m too tired to think of a better argument, so sue me.” He hides a smile at Trott’s quiet laughter, and watches the baker wipe down the countertop. “You're always here so late, and up so early. Do you ever sleep?” He asks.

Trott laughs. He takes a few pots and pans to the nearby sink and starts to scrub them clean. “I’m practically a vampire, mate, with how my sleep schedule goes.” He jokes.

Smith watches Trott’s arms move, the tendons in his hands; the toned line of his shoulder blades underneath his t-shirt. His hair cowlicks a bit at the back of his neck, and Smith finds the sight endearing.

“I get up before dawn, and start baking. I stay late into the evening, and keep baking. Baking and sleeping, that’s about all I do.” Trott continues, saucepan banging against the sink as he turns it in his grasp.

“That’s a lot of work, for a job.” Smith says.

Trott shrugs. “I don’t think of it as a job, really.” He looks towards Smith, and smiles wistfully. “It has it’s ups and downs, of course, like any other job. But owning my own place was something I’ve always wanted to do since I got into culinary school.” He turns back to the sink to rinse the saucepan in his hands and set it up to dry.

Smith imagines Trott as the Iron Chef of baking, and smiles. “Is culinary school as rigorous as they make it out to be?” He asks curiously.

“Yes and no.” Trott hums. “It depends on what you’re aiming for when you get done. Not everyone needs to be a five-star restaurant chef.”

“Did you always want to bake for a living?”

Trott nods, scrubbing back and forth along a baking sheet. “My parents would have wanted me to own a restaurant, but honestly, I don’t fucking care what they want. If I want to own a patisserie, I’m going to.”

“Fuck being a chef, if you can make cakes that taste like sex.” Smith agrees.

Trott laughs.

 

* * *

 

Smith watches Trott stir a bowl of chocolate ganache as the baker regales horror tales from culinary school. He can’t help but watch the way Trott’s arms move, the way he smiles every time Smith laughs at his stories, the way his eyes shine in the bakery lights.

“And that’s why you never hide live lobsters under the kitchen sink.” Trott finishes with a smirk.

“Fucking hell...” Smith replies. “That would make me paranoid every time I had to do the dishes.”

Trott laughs and sucks a bit of chocolate off his thumb, eyes sparkling in mirth.

Smith wants to kiss him more than ever.

But the bowl of ganache is between them, and Smith doesn’t want to be impolite by knocking it aside and kissing him. They’d probably end up covered in chocolate, and Smith should not be thinking about that... Not when Trott’s watching him with an easy smile on his face. Smith hardly knows anything about Trott, and yet...

The brunette walks around the counter suddenly, and stops in front of him. Smith stares back.

Did he do something wrong? Is Trott going to kick him out of his bakery and tell him to fuck off?

Trott’s face is neutral, but his eyes shine with warmth.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

Smith blinks. What? Kiss him? Oh, fuck! “R-Really?” He stammers, flabbergasted.

Trott chuckles. “Yes...if that’s alright with you.” His fingertips brush the back of Smith’s hand as he steps closer, and Smith beams.

“I’d really like that, yeah.”

“Great.”

Trott steps up and kisses him.

Chocolate tastes even sweeter from his lips.

Trott crowds him against the counter as they kiss. Trott tastes of chocolate ganache and something else, coffee, perhaps, but Smith can’t tell.

He doesn’t really care, because Trott’s kissing him, and it’s like an unsung melody, for him and him alone. Smith doesn’t know what the hell his brain means by that. He can’t blame himself for being more than thrilled. The beautiful man he’s been crushing on for weeks is now kissing him back.

Smith’s hands curl around Trott’s hips, one hand brushing the ties of Trott’s apron. He slips a finger under the waistband of Trott’s jeans.

Trott’s mouth breaks from his momentarily. “Not in the bakery, for the love of-”

Smith laughs against Trott’s cheek. “My place, then? It’s not far.” He murmurs, kissing Trott’s jaw. “Unless that’s too fast- I don’t mind, if it is.”

“It’s not fast enough.” Trott chuckles, pulling away. “But I do have to finish up here...”

Smith looks down at the chocolate ganache on the counter. “What can I do to help?”

 

Trott shows him how to whip up some buttercream frosting while he takes things out of the oven. He subtly adjusts Smith’s movements, how he stirs or folds, as he moves past him from one side of the room to another. His hands occasionally caress Smith’s side or his hip affectionately, and the two send shy and wistful glances to one another in anticipation.

When the pastries and frostings are stored in the fridge, they finish cleaning up the bakery proper.

Trott sighs and hangs up his apron, brushing fingers through his hair. “Thanks so much for your help.”

“No problem.” Smith replies. He smiles as he puts the mop back in the closet, and gets ready to go while Trott turns off all the lights.

They step outside into the frigid February night, shuddering in their hats and coats while the wind gusts past.

Trott locks up the door, and turns to face him.

“So...are we...” Smith starts.

Trott pulls him in for a kiss, one hand on his cheek and the other on the front of his coat.

Smith wraps his arms around him. The wind makes him shudder from the cold, and he pulls back.

“Is that a yes?” He asks with a smile, staring into Trott’s eyes in the light of the streetlamps.

Trott smirks. “What do you think?”

 

* * *

 

Smith and Trott lay back, panting in the sheets of Smith’s bed, in his small but homely apartment.

“Better than cake?” Trott asks at last, catching his breath.

Smith laughs, curling around Trott and hiding a grin in his neck. “I’m not sure if I should call it heavenly or sinful.”

“Mm, sinful?”

Smith hums and kisses Trott’s neck. “Most decidedly.”

“Oh, I’d beg to differ.”

“Really?” Smith lifts his head to look Trott in the eye.

Trott grins and kisses him again, twining his fingers through Smith’s hair. “You think that’s sinful, you’re in for a hell of a surprise later.” He chuckles.

Smith laughs. “I’ll look forward to it, then.”

Trott smiles. This close, Smith can see every shade of brown in his eyes, like the numerous kinds of chocolate he sells in his patisserie.

Trott sighs heavily and flops back against the pillows. “Fuck...I have to open tomorrow morning.”

Smith smiles sadly. “Do you really have to go?”

“Sorry, sunshine. I’m afraid so.” Trott strokes Smith’s cheek, thumb caressing the scratchy stubble along his jawline.

Smith pecks a kiss to Trott’s hand. “I wish I could help you out.”

“Looking for a different job?” Trott smiles slowly

“I can’t bake worth shit, mate.”

“I could teach you. Besides, you could operate the till while I work in the back.”

Smith shakes his head and wistfully traces Trott’s collarbone with his fingertips. “That’s quite a lot to invest in someone you hardly know.” He says.

Trott gazes up at him with those chocolate brown eyes of his and smiles. “Something tells me you’d keep coming back.”

A slow grin spreads across Smith’s face, and he leans in again to kiss Trott. The sheets are warm from their shared body heat, and he doesn’t want him to leave. It feels right, to have Trott beside him- he unknowingly found something in Trott that made him happier than he was before.

Smith breaks the kiss and pulls back to meet Trott’s eyes again. “Keep coming back for the sex...or for the cake?” He murmurs.

Trott snorts and shoves him playfully away. “Do you want a fucking job or not?” He asks, shaking his head in amusement.

Smith grins, leans down, and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> doux que soleil or “sweet as sunshine” in French according to Google translate
> 
> verticalfood.tumblr.com is just food porn, honestly. but it’s great.
> 
> http://verticalfood.tumblr.com/post/120410074049/hot-ham-swiss-croissants  
> http://verticalfood.tumblr.com/post/133225510824/yellow-cupcakes-with-raspberry-buttercream  
> http://verticalfood.tumblr.com/post/137438298097/foodiebliss-fluffy-overnight-cinnamon-rolls
> 
> I can imagine these two baking cookies together, frosting cakes and catering. Trott hand-dipping chocolates, and Smith...inappropriately sucking his fingers clean.  
> if anyone else wants to write those, go right ahead.


End file.
